Broken Glass
by OutlastTheDark
Summary: One night. That's all it takes to change a life forever, or to steal it away. For those left over, all that we can do is pick up the shattered pieces and move forward. (Modern AU, WhiteKnight.)


**Broken Glass**

* * *

One night. That's all it takes to change a life forever, or to steal it away. For those left over, all that we can do is pick up the shattered pieces and move forward.

* * *

"So... How about we start from the beginning?"

The rhythmic clicking of a ballpoint pen echoed throughout the musty office, practically matching the beat of a metronome, as a pair of sullen red eyes found themselves locked upon the gaudy looking shag-rug below them.

"Do we _have_ to?..."

A portly man let out a boisterous huff, leaning back in his chair casually as his beady eyes hung over the form of a show-white haired young woman awkwardly toying with her hands.

"No. Not today." The man mumbled, finally bringing the incessant clinking of the pen to a stop as he lay the instrument on a nearby coffee table, "But eventually you'll need to face this."

"And when is '_eventually_'?" The girl plucked a mint from the jar, unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth.

She certainly didn't look worse for wear. All things considered she was actually rather well kept, despite her lethargic attitude.

Her entire outfit seemed to be designed specifically to portray just how much this young woman valued class, with a muted palette of blues and grays that would have normally seemed oh-so cold, if it weren't for a soft glittering twinkle that caused her very being to subtly sparkle with every move she made, giving off an effect similar to that of falling snow.

Even her hair shone with an illustrious sheen, a soft shimmer that served well in accentuating her flawless alabaster skin.

...Or rather, _nearly_ flawless.

The only thing out of place, the only slight imperfection that marred her otherwise pristine features, was a long, garishly hideous scar that ran through her eye, down to her cheek like a serpent trailing down her flesh. The dark, discolored skin was so out of place on such a beautiful face; a visible memento to the invisible scars that lurked just under those white tresses and dull blue eyes.

"Your boyfriend is waiting outside, if you don't think you're ready." He conceded, casually stroking his bushy beard, "You know you're allowed to leave whenever you want. This is therapy, Weiss, not prison."

"And then what?" The girl, Weiss, grumbled, "I can't imagine there's much waiting for me out there besides Paxil and panic attacks."

"Actually, I've got it on good authority you've got a warm dinner, some hot chocolate, and a _Friends_ marathon waiting for you."

"That's certainly news to me..."

"Well, then surprise!..." The therapist flashed a warm, almost fatherly grin, "But before that, I think you ought to give a bit of effort in here."

Her sole response was to lean back into the couch, her trembling fingers clutching her pale, clammy arms in a pathetic self-embrace.

"...It's been four months since the crash," That fatherly smile vanished from his face, replaced by a concerned, almost piteous frown, "Am I right?"

Fire. The smell of a sickly sweet burning, choking her like a python, constricting around her airway with naught but a shred of mercy.

"4 months, 3 days, 18 hours."

Their screams. Sirens blaring in the night, drowned out only by Yang's devastated wails.

"You have it down to the hour?"

It was all encompassing. She could still see them there, bathed in a smoldering pool of their own blood.

"...Wouldn't you?"

"I'm not sure..."

Their faces. Their lifeless faces, twisted in agony, staring back at her.

"If you aren't sure, then why am I speaking to you?" The young woman jabbed, shaking her head roughly.

"Because you need to. It's time that you begin taking necessary steps to move on with your life." A few moments of silence passed before the therapist continued his little lecture, "I'd rather not coerce every little step we take out of you, and I'm sure you wouldn't eith-..."

"Why am I being forced to relive all of this?!..." Her nails dug harshly into the dark leather, very nearly puncturing the surface, "I did once, shouldn't that be enough?!"

"It's more than enough." The portly man agreed, a weary expression crawling its way to the forefront, "We're not here to force you to relive it, Weiss, we're here to process you through what happened, so you can move on."

"What if I don't want to?!"

"You don't want to move on?"

"Yes!-... No!" Weiss' hands flew to her head, fingers disappearing in the waterfall of snow-white hair, "I don't know..."

She'd always known what to do, no matter what the situation. She'd always known how to move forward, no matter the obstacle. She was supposed to be the wise one, the one with the all of the answers. She'd always known how to forge ahead with grace and elegance, in the past.

But now? Now she just...didn't.

Her gaze, and hands, found themselves drawn down to the scroll laying on the table before her, as if taunting her to awaken it from its slumber.

And when she did, when her gentle touch signaled the scroll to activate for it's owner, she found her screensaver staring back at her; the last picture they had ever taken as a group. All of them, arm in arm. Happy, carefree...alive.

"I just...don't want to forget them..."

"Moving on doesn't mean forgetting." The therapist rebuked, though his tone remained as soft, warm- fatherly- as ever, "You and your boyfriend are still here. You two can make sure they're never forgotten."

"If we all hadn't been so eager to get to that...pointless party, we wouldn't need to be remembering them..."

"That's in the past, now."

The scroll, sensing no motion from its wielder, faded to darkness once more, giving Weiss an unwelcome gaze at her own pained expression, "Then let me go back and change it all..."

"Don't be irrational. No one can go back," The man chided, leaning forwards in his chair to close the gap between the two, however small, "All we can do is move forward."

No. Of course not. Why would the universe ever opt for the easy, convenient outcome?

But in the end, admit it or not, she knew he was right. It was foolish- childish- to cry out for a do-over.

"I feel so selfish..."

"Why?"

"He lost people, too."

The therapist tapped his chair with a single finger, his tone measured, even as his eyes trailed down to the scroll resting upon the table, "You're referring to his friend and fiancée."

Sky blue eyes shot down to the floor in shame.

"...You feel like a replacement."

"Why wouldn't I?..."

"You aren't."

"How would you know?"

"I'm paid to know how people tick," The therapist chuckled, though whatever sardonic humor he found in this abysmal situation was more than lost on Weiss, "I'm no psychic, but I can tell you for sure that you're no replacement."

"Did he tell you that?"

"You know I can't say," The therapist shook his head softly at the disapproving glare sent his way, "Sorry."

"Why? You're his councilor, too."

"Which means I'm bound by HIPPA." He explained, "But he loves you. I promise."

"...I know."

She found herself barely acknowledging her own words as she slumped back in the couch, bringing her hands in front of her face as fresh tears threatening to well in her eyes for what seemed like the thousandth time. Perhaps it was the thousandth; she'd lost count months ago.

"I just want to go home..."

"Home?"

Weiss gave the man a curious glance from between her fingers.

"It's home there, now?" He clarified.

The young woman gave a moment's pause, only to let out a breath of exhaustion that seemed to carry the weight of her burdens through the air like a dying swallow, "Somewhere has to be."

"Where is somewhere, then?"

...

"With him?"

"Mhm..."

The therapist hummed curtly, scribbling something down in his notepad, before refocusing his attention on the pale haired young woman.

"It's about time we stop for the evening," He rose, offering her a confident nod, "Good job... I think we're finally making progress."

* * *

_Tick...tick...tick..._

"...You're quiet tonight."

"I'm always quiet."

"Didn't used t'be." Jaune chuckled, setting his mug of hot chocolate aside as he settled against the apartment's dining room table, "You used to be able to shout down an angry lion."

"...Not anymore."

"How'd therapy go?"

"Okay..."

"Anything interesting?-..."

"Are you gonna try to make me talk about it, too?" Weiss accused, shooting the blonde a halfhearted glare.

"No," Jaune hummed, deflecting the glare with a carefree shrug, "We'll talk about it when y'wanna talk about it."

"And if I never do?"

"Then that's fine."

...

"Don't say it." The sudden edge in Jaune's tone gave Weiss pause, "I know what you're gonna say; so don't."

"But your body-..."

"Hey now, far as I'm concerned we're just sharing two halves of the same scar."

Weiss cringed, glancing down to the Pumpkin Pete sweater covering the remainder of his injuries. The injuries from that night. It was hardly a 50/50 split, and Jaune knew it.

"I wish I could go back and-..."

There she was, at it again. Her childish fantasies. Her pointless wishful thinking.

"Weiss, it's fine-..."

"No! No, it's not fine!..." Weiss slammed her pale hand against the table, sending the mugs into their sides in a brilliant display of chocolaty glory, "Look at you!..."

"Sorry, Weiss," Jaune chuckled, crossing his arms as he leaned back in his chair, "But the Arc charms don't just vanish because of a burn or two."

"Why?!"

"...Why don't the Arc?—"

"Why aren't you sad?!" An arm flew in the air, motioning towards his scars, even as its owner set her gaze firmly on the formally spotless tablecloth as if staring into the metaphorical mirror, "Why are you able to smile?! _How_ are you able to smile?!..."

"...Because I have you."

Weiss glanced up, her eyes only meeting Jaune's own gaze for a moment before his found his plate.

"I miss them every day, Snow Angel."

There was that nickname. That damnable nickname she'd vehemently despised when she had first had the displeasure of having it float her way. Now? Now she wasn't sure she could ever claim to be the angelic one of the duo.

"I don't think I've been able to go more than a few hours- heck, even a few minutes- without thinking about them," Jaune began, "Theres pretty much no way I can really get away from those thoughts. They follow me no matter what I do. Honestly there's some days that it gets to be too much. Days I just want to bury my head in the sand until I suffocate."

...

"...But I know that's not what they would've wanted for us." A look of burning determination crossed his face, like a fire roaring to life from little more than a smoldering ember, "They wouldn't want us sitting here, moping about how they're gone. They would want us to remember all the great times we had with them, and smile."

"So I smile," Jaune concluded, "And not just because it's what they would've wanted, but because I have you...and you have me..."

Weiss fell back into her chair, The remainder of her bubbling anger whisked away into the wind.

"It barely feels like it's been more than a few days..." She mused, doing her very best to ignore the burning in her eyes, "4 months, 3 days, and 20 hours... And it only feels like a few days..."

Her breath momentarily caught in her throat as she felt a comfortingly familiar hand lay atop her own, smothering it oh-so easily.

"Do you think Ruby and Pyrrha approve?" She asked, glancing up to the blonde.

"Hmm?"

"Do you think they would approve? Of us?"

"Of course." Jaune's voice was barely above a whisper, "Honestly-..."

He stood, crossing the table to bring her to her feet, where he captured her in an embrace. An embrace that seemed to encapsulate her in warmth. In comfort. In safety.

In love.

"I don't think they'd have it any other way."


End file.
